


We

by AngstandPizzaRolls



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental declaration of love, Bad Eggnog, Christmas Party, Fluff, John's a bad boyfriend, Multi, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Unspoken relationship, Until it is spoken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstandPizzaRolls/pseuds/AngstandPizzaRolls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So maybe Sherlock dreams about spending the rest of his life with John. And maybe he accidentally lets everyone know it at the christmas party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We

**Author's Note:**

> There's really no good reason why Anderson and Donovan are here except for the fact that I love to hate them and I like rubbing John's love for Sherlock in their faces.
> 
> This is some kind of AU of the christmas party in ASiB.

Christmas at 221B was in full swing, the sitting room done up in lights and soft carols playing in the background. It was a small party. Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Molly, John’s date Amy-or was it Ashley. Donovan and Anderson had invited themselves along out of morbid curiosity after they heard Greg mention it the day before. Sherlock wasn’t the only one sending them dirty looks.  
Conversation flowed easily for the most part and common ground was found easily as John told the lot about his and Sherlock’s last case he hadn’t written up for the blog yet.  
“I’m almost too old to go running around London.” John groaned, leaning back in his worn down old arm chair. His date came back from the kitchen with two drinks and plopped unceremoniously on his lap.  
“Oh.” She cooed, shoving a glass of eggnog into his hands. “You’re not even forty yet.”  
“If anyone’s close to retirement, it’s me.” Greg said, leaning against the desk in the sitting room. Anderson and Donovan were taking up the whole sofa, even if they weren’t he wasn’t going near them when they were in this mood. Drunk on eggnog and exchanging sloppy kisses. Molly and Mrs. Hudson were in the chairs at the desk and he refused to set foot in the kitchen with Sherlock’s experiments littering every available surface. The scientist himself was sitting in his chair, glaring moodily at the floor at John’s feet.  
“Oh you’ve still got a few years left yet, dear.” Mrs. Hudson chimed in, patting his arm reassuringly.  
“Doesn’t mean I’m not looking forward to it.” Greg smiled, sipping at his eggnog. The stuff was beyond disgusting. He just wished he had the guts to go in the kitchen and get something else.  
“You can’t get rid of us that easily, boss.” Sally smiled, tipping her glass at him. She took a swig and cringed but managed not to spit it back into her glass.  
There was a lull in the conversation where everyone just settled into the comfortable silence, listening to the soft holiday music. Greg watched John sniff at the drink, but he didn’t even bother to try it so when his date burst suddenly, “How does everyone like the eggnog? I made it myself.” He had to choke back his laughter. There was a tense silence where eyes met and glanced away before they finally decided it was John’s responsibility to break it to her.  
“It’s good.” He mumbled, bringing the glass to his lips, pretending to drink. A round of nods, forced smiles and raised glasses passed and the room settled into stillness once more.  
Sherlock was looking up now, studying each of their faces, his eyes narrowing more with each passing second. “Oh for god’s sake.” He said suddenly, then sprang from his seat in a burst of motion no one saw coming. John watched him walk to the window and expected him to stare broodily out into the dark like he usually did. Instead, he threw the window open, letting in a gust of freezing air.  
Before he could question it, Sherlock was charging back to the kitchen. He breezed by a moment later, the large bowl of eggnog cradled to his chest. As he passed, he wrenched the glass from John’s hand and tossed it into the big bowl. Some of the liquid sloshed out making a mess of the floor. Then he tossed the bowl and all it’s contents out the window and onto the street below.  
Everyone stared as he slammed the window shut so hard the glass rattled. Anderson’s mouth was actually hanging open.  
John was usually the one to scold Sherlock. He was always the one to tell him when something he had done was just a bit not good, that joke he told had terrible timing, that it wasn’t okay to manipulate people for his own personal gain. John was Sherlock’s moral compass so Greg expected some kind of comment, some show of concern that he could’ve hurt someone, or at least that he ruined a perfectly good punch bowl. What he didn’t expect was John to start giggling. His date was caught between furious and stunned looking between Sherlock and John.  
Sherlock picked up the drink that he had been cradling, looked like scotch, and shoved it into John’s hand.Greg felt bad for the girl. She seemed nice enough and definitely didn’t deserve Sherlock’s ususal brand of torture. None of them did really. Sure, he felt bad for her but not enough to hold back the burst of laughter that spilled out when Sherlock plopped back into his armchair and mumbled, “No one likes eggnog.”  
John giggled harder and got a well deserved jab to the ribs. His laughter didn’t die away completely, just became silent, and his chest shook. Her glare made his smile return. “What? He was only saying what everyone else was thinking. I told you he does that.”  
She crossed her arms, somehow managing to settle into and away from John at the same time. John was still holding Sherlock’s eye, every now and then a jolt of laughter shaking his chest.  
“I like eggnog.” Anderson chimed in and Donovan rolled her eyes.  
Sherlock turned sharp narrowed verdigris eyes on him and managed to convey all the contempt he felt for the other man in two words. “You would.”  
Which set John off into giggles again. Sherlock on the other hand, wasn’t amused. He pushed up from his leather armchair and stormed into the kitchen. Hunching over his microscope, he pointedly resumed one of his experiments as if to say I have lost all hope in humanity maybe the mold cultures will have more intelligence.  
“Retirement then?” Mrs. Hudson said, her voice a bit too loud in the sudden tense silence. “My husband promised we would travel when he retired. That was before all that nasty business in Florida.”  
“I’d like to travel with the wife.” Lestrade said quickly, picking up the conversation. “We’ve had a bit of couples therapy. I think we’re ready to try again. She says she’s ready to settle down now.”  
Sherlock snorted and earned several narrow-eyed glares and one quick smile from john that earned him a dirty look from his date.  
“Something funny, freak?” Donovan leered. Greg was about to silence her when Sherlock spoke up.  
“Oh, only the assertion that any of you will be fit enough to travel when your already feeble minds have withered to the size of a peanut.”  
“Like you have a better idea.” Donovan snapped.  
Mrs. Hudson stood up and started shuffling around the room, uneasy at the mounting tension. “Sherlock probably won’t live to see retirement the way he lives. Guns and criminals and making people angry so much.”  
“Of course I do.” Sherlock answered, ignoring Mrs. Hudson altogether.  
“What’s that then?” Greg asked, trying to take back the conversation before anyone got too seriously upset.  
“We will retire to an estate in Sussex and keep bees.” Sherlock spouted. The Obviously was implied.  
The room froze. No one could even pull in a shocked gasp at Sherlock’s revelation. Even Sherlock, who sounded so sure just a moment before froze, his shoulders going tense as he realized what he had just said. His hand curled around the wheel on his microscope but it didn’t move.  
“We?” Lestrade managed to choke out what everyone else was thinking. Poor Molly looked hopeful for the briefest of moments. Eyes were torn between Sherlock who was trying much too hard to appear casual and John, who was stuck in his chair eyes blank like he was seeing something far off.  
Anderson and Donovan were huddled together on the couch, trying to contain their laughter. It was only a matter of time now before John corrected Sherlock. Before Sherlock had his feelings and his business dragged out in front of everyone. He deserved to be humiliated every once in a while.  
John’s date, was it Ashley?, leaned forward on his lap to see his face. She had one perfectly manicured eyebrow arched, waiting for John to correct him. All he had to do was laugh it off. Yeah, Him and the skull. That’s all he had to say to get Ashley to settle back in, to ease the tension in the room, and let everyone forget that this little horror show had never happened. But he wasn’t saying anything.  
She shoved off his lap and stormed away, nearly knocking the coat rack over as she tugged hers on. Looking back, she gave him one last chance. He was still staring straight ahead, unseeing. With a huff, she pounded down the stairs out the door muttering something that sounded a lot like ‘I knew it’.  
Now all eyes were firmly fixed on John. Waiting to see what he would say or do, or if he would go chasing after his girl. He didn’t.  
Sucking in a huge breath, he came back to reality, meeting the eyes of every person gathered around in tense anticipation. It was like he was preparing to make a huge announcement and he wanted everyone’s attention. But in the end, he just twisted in his chair so he could see Sherlock at the table and said, “Bees? Really?”  
“Apiology is a perfectly respectable hobby.” Sherlock sniffed. His whole body shifted from that intense stillness. He was back to lazily peering through his microscope, scratching absentminded notes on the paper beside him. Though his words had a sharp edge, no one missed that faint twist of his lip. That little bit of smile he couldn’t hold back.  
“Right.” John gave a brief nod and settled back into his chair. He swirled the scotch Sherlock insisted he drink a few times before downing it. When he looked back up and met the room again, there was a small widening of his eyes like he had forgotten they existed and his smile dimmed. But it never really disappeared.


End file.
